The Real Hell is Your Life Gone Wrong
by LaueHime
Summary: One shot. Dean's in Hell torturing souls and he relishes the job. That's until one soul changes everything and reminds him what it's like to be human. Rated M, warnings inside.


**Title:** The Real Hell is Your Life Gone Wrong

**Author:** LaueHime

**Rating:** R

**Words: **~ 3,700

**Warnings:** Dark themes, dark graphic imagery, language

**Summary: **Dean's in Hell torturing souls and he relishes the job. That's until one soul changes everything and reminds him what it's like to be human.

**AN: **I've had this idea for a while and finally got down to write it. This is unbeta'd so sorry for the mistakes you might find. It has dark triggery themes too, so if that's not your thing maybe you shouldn't read. But if you do choose to read it, I'd like to know what you thought about it. Thanks for your time and enjoy the story!

xxx

He twisted the knife that sat between his fingers; an unconscious habit he'd taken from toying with the weapon for too long. The other man smirked underneath the crust of dried blood and sweat that littered his face. He tried to tug at his restraints but the slim metallic bindings only dug deeper into his skin. Blood pooled from the wounds and the man frowned in both confusion and anger.

"I'm gonna ask you one more time. How do you feel when you think about those girls whose innocence you've stolen," the man with the knife questioned. The look on his face was hard and unforgiving.

The grim light shadowed both their faces. Every once in a while, a flash resembling some kind of lightning bolt pierced the thick grey clouds and reflected on their faces for the briefest seconds. As the next one hit, the man whom was held caught a glimpse of his torturer. For the first time, he noticed the dirty dark blond hair and the sorrowful green eyes circled by fields of sun-kissed freckles.

He grinned wickedly and from the back of his throat escaped a gurgle of self-appreciation and most likely, of pride. "You should've seen the little sluts. They were asking for it! And when I fucked them, they enjoyed it! They only got what was coming for them."

There was definitely pride in the man's recalling of his past sins. He smiled gleefully as if his actions were worthy of a holy blessing. Only, there was nothing holy around them. There was fire and thunder coupled to the never-ending stench of blood and sulfur. The other man cleared his throat, his blade visible only from the reflection of the cold light on the blade.

"Remember this. My name is Dean Winchester and I'll spend eternity making sure you pay with your blood for the pain that you've caused," the dark figure growled. The man tied to the stand only laughed as blood pooled in his throat.

"We're already dead, pal." That's what he pointed out. The other one – this Dean Winchester – didn't say a word. He glared through him with eyes cold as the bottom of the ocean.

"Trust me, _pal_. You're gonna wish you were," Dean replied with a mock smirk before plunging the knife all the way into his prisoner's abdomen. He felt the blade cut through flesh and skin tissues. His arm went in and brushed past foot after foot of bowels. He slashed all the way down to the man's groin.

Pain-filled screams echoed into the nothingness wrapped in cottony clouds and sizzling static. A dark rivulet of blood ran down like a waterfall to feed the deadly fire at the bottom of the deep pit.

Some would say Hell is worse than death… they might have met Dean Winchester on the way.

xxx

Dean leaned on the edge of his tool tray. He'd spent some considerable time scrubbing blood off his favorite blade. It's not that he cared about sanitary measures, but he did hate to see his favorite toys rust. Maybe it was more than that. Maybe it was force of habit that he wouldn't go a day without cleaning up his artillery. After all, old habits die hard.

He lifted his head slightly and studied the new soul that had been tied in front of him and at his mercy. It was a man whom appeared to be in his fifties. He was dressed in all suit and ties and Dean reckoned that those had nothing to do with the cheap ones he used to buy when he incarnated federal agents. He pursed his lips at the idea and grabbed his whetstone between steady fingers. The blade slid across the stone with a shrilling battle cry.

"Who the hell are you? What's going on?" the man asked as he fought to get out of his restraints.

Dean's head didn't move but his eyes went up to glare in the man's direction. He heard a loud gulping sound as the man shrank back into himself. Dean kept his deadly glare on the man while he sharpened his knife. Metal against stone produced occasional sparks like miniature fireworks.

"Judging by the looks of you, I'd say you're a thief," Dean spoke suddenly. The man frowned in annoyance.

"Go to Hell, boy," he spat. Dean smiled.

"Yeah, I was gonna say the same thing to you."

The clouds thickened with cries of sorrow. For the briefest moment, the sky appeared to be crimson red. Thunder rose to cover up the screams. Dean retrieved his knife and wiped the blood off the blade on the man's suit.

"That's an expensive suit, you son of a bitch." Dean looked up to meet the anger in the other man's eyes. Even with a gaping flesh wound, the man cared for the suit.

"Ain't gonna get you anything down here. Maybe your money could buy you anything up there, but it's not how it works here."

The man puckered his lips which elicited a satisfied smirk on Dean's face. Without another word, Dean ripped the suit to pieces without a care for the skin lying underneath. Crimson pieces of cloth fell to their feet.

"What do you want from me?" It was an honest to God desperate plea for understanding. Dean turned around and rummaged through the precious tools at his disposition. The fun was just starting.

"Let's see what I can steal from you. I'm thinking a lung or a colon… what do you think?"

xxx

The soul that was up on the post was different from the others. Dean had seen a few of those before but he still felt uneasy when dealing with them. They were the tortured souls; the damned ones. They presented with no real face and no tangible memories of who they were and of what brought them to the pit. Usually, the souls he tortured were sharp and witty. He would extract their sins from them and make them bleed and scream until they begged for redemption. The damned spirits were different. He didn't need to bring them to their knees because they already were the self-deprecating kind.

Dean wasn't one to enjoy the pity parties and usually relinquished the broken spirits over to the other demons that had a liking for such challenges. Still, something appealed to him in this one. He felt drawn to that one broken soul.

It didn't squirm or try to break free like the other ones did. Dean was always baffled by the lack of will the dark ones presented. It was as if they knew they deserved to be there.

"Who are you?" he asked the faceless shadow. Small black holes stared back at him and there was something in them… They looked back down as the spirit lowered its head without letting a breath out or anything else that would serve as acknowledgment of the question.

Dean shrugged and took his knife into his hands. He toyed with it; uncomfortable with the idea of hurting a soul that thought it deserved to be hurt. He liked to torture the ones who relished in their sins, not the other way around.

"Am I going to have to beat it out of you?"

He waited for an answer that never came. When he plunged the knife into the dark body, he caught a glimpse of the black abysses that had stared back at him before. An icy cold wind slashed his insides when gratitude flashed in those eyes.

Dean pulled back from the sullen corpse and studied it from the distance. Beside the hitching breaths, there was no cry for mercy or any other complains for that matter. The black holes came back to look at him and they were pleading. Dean felt sick to his stomach, but then he did the only thing he could think of. He cut and stabbed and ripped the soul apart. It didn't make a noise except for the ragged breathing that echoed all the way to Dean's ears.

At the end of the day, the soul hadn't spoken a word. It had been bled and shredded, but nothing could make it cry. Dean put down his knife and called it a day. He didn't feel well ripping apart a soul that had nothing to offer.

He was about to leave when he heard a soft whimper from the bleeding heap on the rack. He turned to face it only to find deep black eyes staring back at him once more.

"Thank you," it murmured. Dean swallowed and felt his _un_beating heart double take inside his chest. It broke him to see such sorrow emanating from one soul. That one must've been the hell of a wreck back when it was alive. They weren't damned souls just because the appellation sounded stylish.

xxx

Dean lost count of days. He couldn't tell how long it had been since he had met the dark soul. Every night, after he'd torn the body up, he asked himself if what he was doing was even worth it. There were plenty of souls he could take his anger out on and those would actually react to his painful stabs. He missed the screams and the insults, but something kept him going with the broken one.

He hadn't been able to pull many words out of it, but those deep black orbs were thankful to him every time he pushed his blade into it. Somewhere at the back of his mind he felt useful, even if in a sadistic way. It reminded him of how it felt to _help_ someone and earn _gratitude_ from it.

"Why don't you fight back?" he slipped one day. He couldn't understand why this soul was so eager to be broken even more than it already was.

The spirit shrugged dolefully. "Why would I?"

There wasn't even an ounce of liveliness in the response. Dean had to admit he'd never witnessed such despair before. Even the other broken souls he'd tortured had cracked after a while and wept for salvation. This one really earned its title.

"Don't you want it to stop?" Dean tried with a sliver of hope blooming in his chest. It was the first time he actually wished a soul would beg him to put it off the rack.

The spirit shrugged again. "This feels good."

Its voice died down past its lifeless murmur. Dean was taken aback. Out of the years he'd spent torturing, this was a definite first occurrence. He'd never heard a soul actually _beg_ for the pain.

"Are you shitting me? I've cut you open, peeled your skin off and worse and… you tell me to come again?"

Dean was starting to lose his cool. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that this one soul was _asking_ for more. For a pity party, this was way more than he bargained for. A strange feeling overwhelmed him and he realized he'd never felt that uncomfortable before.

" 's not so bad," the soul slurred. Dean shuddered at the response.

"… makes me forget 'bout the other pain," the soul continued. Dean's eyes snapped open and his head straightened reflexively. He found himself face to face with the spirit and the black holes were staring right through him.

" 'm the only one left… whole family died 'cause of me."

Dean felt the sting of tears and tried to shake them away. It had been thirty something years since the last time he'd felt like crying. Suddenly, he had compassion for that broken heart that was tied up in front of him.

"Why are you telling me this?" Dean's chest was constricting dangerously and he caught himself thinking that he'd suffocate soon enough.

"Dunno…" The soul shrugged despondently. It sniffed before bowing its head again. It was its way of telling Dean to go on. They had done that for a long time and Dean was starting to know the signs. Only this time, he didn't feel like hurting the soul anymore. Something inside his chest wanted to bust out. Strangely, he felt like taking the soul into his arms and comforting it.

"No no no, wait a sec. I'm not doing that right now," he refused. The dark head bobbed back up and morose pits stared back at him. It broke something inside of Dean.

"You think you deserve it, don't you?"

The eyes widened and filled with profound misery. For an instant, Dean thought it looked like a kicked puppy.

"Aren't you the executioner? Why are you trying to save me?" the spirit stuttered out in a broken voice Dean had never heard from it before. He didn't even have an answer to that, but somehow he felt compelled to do something.

"Why aren't you trying to save yourself?"

The spirit curled up on itself and Dean could tell it was trembling.

"Please just kill me."

The plea was only whispered but Dean heard it clearly and he felt like he'd just swallowed a gallon of ice. Only then did he realize that he was trembling too.

"No."

The small heap shuddered more violently than before. That long awaited moment had finally come and Dean would witness this soul's breakdown. He just didn't know if that really brought on relief. It had taken so much to break it; he was afraid of what he'd find.

"Why not? Please, I'm begging you," the spirit cried. Crimson tears rolled down its cheeks and it broke Dean's heart. His own emotions threatened to go all over the place.

"I can't."

The spirit looked up with dewy eyes. The pale line that traced its lips trembled. "Why?"

"Because…" Dean started but his breath caught in his throat. That's the moment he hated the most when working with the broken souls. "You're already dead," he stated in one shaky breath.

Black depths widened with surprise. The featureless face stilled and darkened. Dean found himself staring, unable to say anything else. His voice caught in his throat and all sounds died out of him while he stared in shock at the scene before him.

"No…I…" the spirit stammered, its thoughts seeming to run at a thousand miles an hour. "My… brother's dead… but me… no… am not." It stopped itself short and Dean could hear it swallow compulsively.

" 'ts not possible I… where am I?"

The soul looked so lost and confused, Dean had to grab onto his tray before his knees buckled. Never before had a soul's suffering affected him that much.

"You're in Hell," he replied before his voice failed him. There were no second chances for that kind of revelations.

The soul's eyes snapped open as if it had just taken a shock to its system. Dean felt sick to his stomach.

"Hell? No. That's impossible." Dean could tell that the spirit wasn't talking to him but most likely to itself as it tried to comprehend the situation and to make sense of it.

"Dean's in Hell… gotta get him out…" the soul murmured to itself.

Dean's mouth fell open in an attempt to suck in a breath. His knees gave out under him and he fell limply as if his energy had been sucked out of him at once. Buzzing static filled his head as he realized what had gone on for months.

"Sammy," he whispered brokenly. Sam hadn't heard him. He was still squirming frantically in an attempt to make sense of it all. Dean studied his brother with a heavy heart. It was all there. How come he'd missed that?

The dark mop of hair and the wide dewy eyes, even devoid of their hazel spark, were all too _Sam_. His Sam. The little brother he'd left behind when he died. That's when everything connected together and suddenly made sense. Dean had felt attracted to help this soul; his brother's soul. His big brother instinct would always know when his little brother needed help. But what had Sam gotten himself into this time? Sam _was_ in Hell.

Dean tried to stand, but it proved to be harder than he thought it would be; even when driven by a strong sense of duty towards his suffering brother. He had to hold on to his tray to stand and even then, his legs remained shaky. Once the shock passed, he managed to drag his lead-laden feet and reached his fidgety brother.

"Sammy," he repeated with the intention of reaching out to his brother this time. Sam didn't acknowledge his presence and kept on rocking his frail body against the restraints. The motion caused the wire to dig deeper into his skin.

Dean grabbed Sam's cheeks into his hands and forced their eyes to meet. "Sammy, it's okay. It's me. It's Dean. Stop that, you're hurting yourself."

Sam shook his head out from Dean's touch. His eyes turned back to Dean and the elder could see how disconnected they were. Even through the blackness, Dean could tell that his little brother wasn't with him at the time.

"Just fuck off! Don't bullshit me. Dean's dead, I watched him die!" Sam spat, tears cascading down his cheeks. Sorrow quickly turned into anger and Dean had to take a step back. He'd never seen his Sam in that state before.

"I know, Sammy. I'm sorry. I never meant for that to happen. But I'm here now. Please, look at me," he pleaded while trying to get a hold of Sam again. The youngest twisted away like a snake.

"Don't. Get off me! Dean died because of me! Just fucking kill me already!"

Dean didn't think his heart could take more breaking but only Sam could prove him otherwise. The image of his brother hanging in front of him for weeks returned to him with a force. He couldn't shake off how broken Sam was and that's when he truly grasped how his death had affected his brother in ways he couldn't have foreseen.

"No," Dean spat sternly. Sam stopped fighting and turned wide eyes to him. Dean could see his face, his sorrow. His chest tightened some more.

"I know you're hurt, Sammy. I'm so sorry I put you through this! But I'm not hurting you again. Ever. Do you understand me?"

Something must have clicked in Sam's head because he didn't fight Dean off and kept on listening to him.

"Sammy?"

Again, Sam stared at him with a blank look as if he still couldn't tell who he was. The youngest didn't seem to recognize his brother either. But he remembered Dean. That was a good place to start.

"Who are you," Sam finally asked after studying his brother's face for moment. Dean swallowed.

"I'm the one and only most amazing big brother to that knucklehead of yours," Dean replied with an attempt at a smile that turned into more of a pout than anything else.

Sam frowned. He didn't seem convinced but, at least, he didn't push Dean off.

"Don't bullshit me. Dean's in Hell."

Sadness filled Dean's eyes. "Well… Look around, kiddo. This isn't exactly Disney Land."

Dean stared as Sam did look around. He noticed all the grimaces and frowns his little brother sported whenever reality appeared to settle in a little more.

"Where am I?" Sam finally asked as he turned back to Dean. The elder tore his gaze away and his eyes traveled aimlessly before he found the strength to stare Sam in the eyes again.

"This is Hell, Sammy. You've been here for a couple of months… what'd you do? Kill yourself?"

At first, Sam looked frustrated in front of the person he still thought to be an imposter. After a few seconds though, Dean's words started to sink in. Devastation painted itself all across his face and Dean swore to himself that he'd never let that look near his brother's mug ever again.

"Dean?" Sam choked out. Dean could see recognition in his brother's eyes. The phantom beat of his heart rattled inside his chest.

"Sammy?"

He just needed to be sure; just in case. Sam's eyes welled up with tears and tendrils of hazel snaked into the black holes. Shades of copper shimmered through the pitch black mop of hair. Dean felt his own eyes water up as _his_ Sammy stood in front of him.

"Dean? I'm… so sorry, Dean… God, Dean! I'm so sorry," Sam breathed out, his voice cracking from the onslaught of emotions that returned to him all at once. His voice caught in his throat and utter devastation tainted his returned features.

Dean wiped his eyes with the back of his hand while starting to cut through the wire that held his brother captive. Once the wire was off, Sam fell forward limply. Dean caught him and lowered the both of them to the ground. The idea of everything he'd done to Sam in the past months slammed into him and if he still had a working digestive system, he would've vomited his guts out.

"Dean? It's really you! I'm so sorry, Dean." Sam was still trembling as he worked his way into the safety of his brother. Dean noticed the gesture and let his little brother snuggle his way into his side.

"It's okay, Sammy. I'm the one who should apologize to you. I'm sorry I've hurt you in so many ways. It's not your fault. Please, don't blame yourself," he whispered into Sam's hair as he cradled his brother into his arms and rested his chin on the top of Sam's head.

"We're gonna be okay. I promise. I'll get us out of here," Dean continued as he rocked both his body and Sam's. Sam wrapped his fingers in Dean's shirt and held on to it like a lifeline. Dean wrapped his arms tighter around his shivering little brother.

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy. We'll be okay."

"Promise you won't leave again."

Dean's heart squeezed in his chest at his brother's request. Seeing how his absence affected his brother, he can't bring himself to refuse to heed to such a vital need.

"I promise. I'm right here. I'm right here, Sammy. I'm not going anywhere ever again."

Sam tightened his grip and Dean kept on rocking the both of them.

THE END


End file.
